Blown Wide Open
by starfish422
Summary: Slash: QAF alternate ending to series finale. CONTAINS SPOILERS. Canon until end of s5e10, then diverges into AU. Written for Shannon - mozzer0906 - for her birthday. Sexuality/language.


"Blown Wide Open"

**This one-shot has been written as a gift for my best friend in the world, Shannon – mozzer0906. It is only a drop in the bucket as an attempt to thank her for her friendship and love. If you've read any of my previous stories, you should know that none of them would have happened without her. Sept 6 is Shannon's birthday! Happy birthday, my darling friend.**

**This is a Queer as Folk-based fic (based on the US version). _It contains spoilers_ for the end of the final season. I have tried to summarize a bit of the relevant details in the preface, providing some canon context. Shannon has always felt that the way the QAF series ended was really unsatisfying. Here I have attempted to write an ending that should fulfill every Brian/Justin fan's wishes. My story begins in canon, but takes the arc into alternate universe. **

**The names and some of the peripheral characters' situations may be more or less lost on you if you haven't watched the series. However, I hope that by the time you finish it, even if you don't know the characters, you'll have found something to enjoy about it. ;)**

**-o-**

_Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor first met nearly five years ago, when Justin was 17 and Brian was 29. Brian, not knowing how young Justin was, picked him up outside Babylon and took him home. It was Justin's first time, and he fell in love. After their liaison, Brian – in typical Brian fashion – told Justin he wasn't interested in seeing him again. Justin persisted, and gradually wriggled his way into Brian's life. For five years, they've been together and apart. Recently, Justin left Brian; he knew that, even though he and Brian loved each other, Brian could never give him what he truly wants – a monogamous commitment. They are both saddened by the split, but for the most part, there is no acrimony between Brian and Justin._

_Brian, the owner of a hugely popular gay club named Babylon, donates the use of the club to a gay rights group who are holding a fundraiser. The event is to raise money to continue fighting a proposition that will severely limit the rights of gays and lesbians in Pittsburgh. Brian plans a trip to Australia, leaving the night of the fundraiser._

_On his way to the airport, on the limousine radio a newsflash announces that an explosion has taken place at Babylon. Justin and all of their mutual friends are at the fundraiser. Brian tells the driver to turn around immediately, and they race back toward the club. _

_Outside Babylon, the street is a cacophony of sirens, alarms set off by the blast, and the shouts and screams of confusion and terror. People stream out of the club as quickly as they can; the uninjured helping those with burns and cuts and broken limbs. Brian jumps out of the car, looking in vain to find Justin among the club-goers. He sees Jennifer, Justin's mother, with her boyfriend; racing up to her, he asks if she's seen Justin – she tells him Justin is still inside. He heads into the club, fighting the river of people pouring out through the door._

_Inside, the club is nearly unrecognizable. Thick black smoke still permeates the upper level; the west bar is destroyed. Every surface is covered in thick dust. "Justin!" shouts Brian, amidst the screams and pleas for help from the injured inside. He spies a boy lying on the catwalk – for a split second, Brian believes it is Justin's face; but he realizes with simultaneous relief and horror, that the boy, though not Justin, is dead. _

_Beside him, a shower of sparks suddenly cascade from a hanging wire. The glare illuminates a blonde-headed boy, shielding his face from the sparks. It's Justin. In two great strides, Brian closes the distance between them, grabbing Justin's shirt and pulling him into his arms. It is the work of seconds to determine that they're both okay, and that Justin's mother is safely outside the club already. Presently, Emmett joins them, expressing his relief at finding Justin in one piece. _

_"Have you seen Michael?" Brian asks Emmett. Emmett doesn't reply._

_"Em?" Justin prompts._

_In a near-panic, Brian shouts at the still-mute Emmett. "Emmett!!" Emmett shakes his head – not that he hasn't seen Michael; but that, unfortunately, he has. He leads them outside. Michael, unconscious, his face blackened, is on a stretcher that is being loaded into an ambulance. Ben jumps in beside the stretcher and the ambulance races off, siren wailing. Brian takes Deb, Michael's mother, to the hospital in his vehicle. He remains at the hospital until Michael goes into surgery; then heads back to Babylon, where Justin has remained to try to help with the injured. Brian gets out of his car, looking for Justin; who emerges from among the maze of emergency vehicles that litter the alley outside Babylon. _

I knew, the moment I saw him stride towards me. His usually-blonde hair was dull, darkened into a bleak grey by the same soot that streaked his face and hands. He wore a paramedic's jacket, miles too big for his slender frame. And he was the most beautiful fucking thing I'd ever seen.

And I knew.

I pulled him into my arms the instant he was within reach, wrapping myself around him. Beneath the smell of smoke, beneath the grime, he was still Justin – warm and sweet and _alive_. Despite the fact that he had left me, this...circumstance...this fucking apocalypse that had rent our lives apart, he was alive. And I knew.

"When I heard what happened I tried to call you on your cell; but you didn't answer. I was... so fuckin' scared. All I could think was, _Please, don't let anything happen to him._"

He didn't speak, but gave me the slightest hint of a smile, to show me that he understood and appreciated the emotion. But what I'd said wasn't enough. He didn't _know_ what I meant. _I_ knew. I put my arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me till I could murmur in his ear.

"I love you," I said, my voice breaking slightly.

I pulled my face back so I could look at him. He made a small noise, a soft, "Oh," overwrought with emotion, and his eyes filled with tears. I looked into his eyes, cupping his jaw with my right hand.

"I love you," I repeated, looking into his face. We kissed then, deeply; clinging together against the desperation and disquietude that had suddenly flooded our existence.

-o-

Justin stayed with me that night; there was no one at Ben and Michael's, of course, and neither of us wanted to be alone. More to the point, we wanted to be with each other. I called the hospital when we got back to the loft; Michael was out of surgery, Ben said, and the prognosis was good. We showered before bed, cleaning away the physical reminders that tarnished the exterior; wishing the emotional and mental defilement could be as easily remedied. We crawled under the covers of my bed together, and I slid up against him, spooning him and pulling him tight to my chest. We lay that way for a long time until I began to tremble. The tremors grew till I was shaking uncontrollably, and Justin finally pulled free, rolling to face me.

"It's okay," he whispered, sliding one arm under my neck and drawing me to him. "Michael's going to be okay; and you and I are both here, together. We're alright."

My trembling continued, my muscles clamping down to try to control the quakes. Justin's warm body, his sweet smell and his hot breath on my forehead – finally they calmed my tremors. My legs and back and ribs were sore from the strain; but eventually we both slept, tangled together.

-o-

In the morning we woke early, and dressed mostly silently to go to the hospital. Though Mikey still hadn't awoken, the surgery had gone well – much better than the doctor had predicted. When we arrived, Debbie was standing vigil by his bedside while Ben grabbed some much-needed rest. I couldn't help thinking that Debbie was bogarting the martyr award.

We sat, watching him lie there still unconscious; his state allowing his body the time it needed to begin to heal. He still looked as though he'd been through a war; as I later reflected, a battle was a more accurate description – the opening salvo in what would become an assault on our safety and our rights. His face was bruised and cut, but at least he was clean now, and he would be okay.

Later that day, Hunter showed up at the hospital. Debbie and Ben were beside themselves, as I knew Mikey would be too. And something began to germinate in my mind – watching their little family become whole again; realizing how close Mikey had been to death; knowing how easily I could have...I could barely think it...lost Justin forever...

I looked at Justin sitting beside me in the waiting room, where we'd retreated to allow Hunter, Ben and Debbie to sit with Michael. I continued to look at him, long enough that he finally turned to meet my gaze.

"What?" he asked, looking mildly amused.

"Just thinking," I murmured.

"About anything in particular?"

"You...me...love..."

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes as he turned away.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I demanded.

"You don't believe in love, remember? You believe in fucking." He parroted my words back to me perfectly – considering all the times he'd heard me say it, it wouldn't have come as a surprise that he quoted me.

"That was before," I contradicted quietly.

"Before you got scared by some asshole with a bomb," he replied, more gently than before. "I was scared too, Brian. Fuck that – I still am. But it doesn't matter; you and I still want different things."

"Sometimes it takes a lightning strike – or a bomb – to make you realize what's really important. To realize that what you really want, has been in front of you for five years."

"I don't want you to make this decision, this way," he replied. "You shouldn't make important decisions during times of heavy stress; you judgment is affected. Mine too."

"My fucking judgment is just--" I spoke loudly, becoming frustrated that he wouldn't believe me, and a nurse at the nearby station shushed me. Dropping my voice, I began again. "My judgment is just fine," I growled softly. "I know what I want. I want you – I want _only_ you. I love you, and I want to give you everything you've wanted since the day I met you."

He gave me a look that was beyond skeptical – it was nearly mocking. "_You've_ never wanted any of that, though," he said. "You don't want monogamy; you don't want marriage, you don't want kids."

"I want you," I said. "When you left, I assumed we'd be back together eventually; but when I thought I might never see you again…I realized what a fucking ass I've been. As afraid as I was to make a commitment to you – it was nothing compared to the terror of believing you might be…" I couldn't say the word, my voice trailing off. He understood my intent. "I love you. I want to be with you."

"If that's true," Justin replied gently, "then you'll still want it three months from now, when the shock and the stress of this have subsided. Give it until then. Don't commit to something now that you'll regret later." I began to protest, but he silenced me. "I'm asking you to give it three months. I've loved you for five years, Brian, from the moment I saw you. Nothing is going to change that. Not in three months, not in a year...not in a century. And in three months, if you still want it, I'll commit to you again. And if you don't, I'll move on, and we won't have to go through all the ugliness again, like when I left last time."

I sat silently, considering his words. It was three months. If it gave me forever, I would honor his wish. But I wouldn't wait it out lying down, so to speak. I was going to do everything I could to show him – to prove to him, how much I loved him. "Okay," I conceded. "I'll give it three months. Not because I need it; but because you need to be sure that I mean it."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss me softly. "Thank you," he murmured. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. Now that I knew what I wanted, I wanted it to begin right away; but he had waited for me for five years. I could give him three months.

Later that day, Mikey awoke. Ben and Deb were so relieved; Hunter too, though he tried to be less expressive about it. I had the feeling Deb had given him a stern talking-to about how devastated Michael and Ben had been by his disappearance, by not knowing where he was or whether he was okay. He certainly seemed contrite, compared to the cocky little shit he'd been before. I hoped, for Michael and Ben's sake, that he was planning to stick around.

After the candlelight vigil that night for the victims of the explosion, I hooked my arm through Justin's, intending to lead him to my car. He hesitated. "Where are you going?" he asked with some amusement.

"To my place?" I replied, assuming he would come with me.

"Can you drop me at my place on your way past?" he asked.

"You don't want to stay over?"

"Has it been three months already?" he grinned.

I frowned, trying to figure out what he meant. "You mean…we can't _date_ for three months either?" He grinned, slowly shaking his head, and I groaned.

"No dating…no sleepovers..."

"I didn't have sleeping in mind," I murmured.

"Don't think I don't know it, too," he said with a wicked smirk. "Just drop me at home, please."

Over the next two months, Mikey grew stronger every day. Hunter was back to stay; in fact, Michael and Ben asked him if he would allow them to adopt him, and he consented, becoming Hunter Novotny-Bruckner. Theodore reunited with Blake – for good this time; and Em introduced us all to a rediscovered friend from Mississippi, who quickly became very special to him.

And between Justin and I, things continued much as they had – I pursued, he evaded. Always good-natured about it, he nevertheless held fast, at least to his embargo on sex. We did date, and we kissed – a lot. In fact, I felt like the teenager I'd never been; as we seldom progressed past making out; and never below the waist. And then he would always go home to his crappy place, leaving me horny and unsatisfied. I saved a shitload of money on condoms; but I'm sure I more than made up for it in the additional cost of the hot water I was using in my extra-long showers.

After two months, something happened to change Justin. It wasn't a significant change, but still noticeable – like a 50-watt bulb instead of 60 watts, he just didn't seem to be Sunshine, at least not the way he had been in the past. I didn't know what had happened to change him; and though I asked repeatedly, he would always try, unconvincingly, to reassure me that he was fine. Sometimes he attributed it to having some creative block; but I had never known him not to be able to work through his creatively challenging times.

Finally, a week after Justin's cloud had descended, Lindsay enlightened me as to the situation, though quite accidentally. She called me at Kinnetic, from their new house in Toronto to let me know how Gus was doing in his new preschool. "So what did you think of the article?" she asked excitedly. "Aren't you proud of him?"

"Proud?" I asked with confusion, wondering if I'd missed something she'd said in our conversation about Gus.

"Of course! They want him to move to New York! That's every artist's dream! He must be beside himself," she gushed. I didn't answer, not knowing how to respond on a subject I knew nothing about. Linds continued, "I hope he doesn't take too long to decide; if the admissions office at NYAA doesn't hear back soon, they're likely to rescind it. That's the shitty thing about the art world; they're so fucking self-serving. You have to practically give them youf firstborn in thanks for offering the opportunity, or they'll never give you a hand up again."

"Yeah, I guess he'd better decide soon," I mumbled. "What magazine was that in again?" She told me, and I Googled the magazine's website, hoping the article was in their online content. She continued to talk while I located it, until I said, "Linds, I have to go – I'm due in a meeting in a few minutes."

"Okay – give everyone a kiss for us! We love you!" With that, she was gone.

I read the article, which was a write-up of Justin's most recent show at the gallery where Lindsay had worked. As she had said, the author stated that Justin's talent was wasted in Pittsburgh, and essentially demanded that he move to New York where he could obtain a real education.

Immediately, I called Ted into my office. "I can't make this meeting, Theodore," I told him. "You and Cynthia are going to have to handle it."

"Sure, Bri," Ted agreed, with the confidence that had pervaded his demeanor since he'd had surgery to "freshen up" a few months ago. "Everything okay?"

"Something's come up," I told him, "and I need to go deal with it."

"If it's the Brown Athletics account, I've already spoken to—" he began, but I cut him off.

"It's not Brown – I spoke to Drew, he told me you handled it," I replied. "Nicely done, Theodore."

"Thanks, Bri," he smiled. "Well, you go deal with whatever you have to look after, and Cynthia and I will look after Oliver."

"Thanks," I told him as I pulled open the door to my office.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was mounting the steps to Justin's…space. I couldn't bring myself to call it an apartment, since it had no kitchen and the running water was only useful to wash out paintbrushes – I certainly wouldn't have ventured to drink it. It had what he wanted, though, which was a lot of natural light, and a floor that wouldn't mind paint spatters. What were a few more on top of the thousands already there?

I knocked on his door, waiting for him to answer, which I didn't usually do. Today I felt formal somehow. I heard his steps on the wooden floor, and he opened the door between us. His surprise at seeing me there in the middle of the day was translated into his typical 100-megawatt smile, and I sighed – partly in relief, partly with regret – at the reappearance of Sunshine.

"Hey!" he said, giving me a careful kiss so he didn't get paint on my suit. "This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?"

I stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind me. I decided to get directly to the point. "I just talked to Linds."

The smile slowly slid from his face as he grasped my full meaning of those few words. He didn't speak, so I continued. "Why didn't you tell me, Justin?" I didn't realize how hurt I was by his omission until I heard the hurt lacing my own voice. We weren't "supposed" to be dating yet; but Jesus Christ, we were Brian and Justin. All the shit we'd been through together, and he couldn't tell me about being offered a full scholarship for his graduate degree in art school, in New York City?

"I'm not going," he said quietly. "So it doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't," I replied. "Lindsay told me what a big deal this is – NYAA doesn't ever do this, but for you they are."

"Well, good for them," he retorted. "I didn't ask them to – they're doing it because someday it'll look good for them if I'm on their alumni roll."

"Leave their reasons out of it – what about what this would do for you? For your career?"

"I know what my priorities are," he murmured, not meeting my gaze.

"Justin, your priority is art. You _are_ an artist," I reminded him.

"I can still be an artist in Pittsburgh," he said, quieter still.

"Jesus," I cursed. "You're so fucking stubborn."

He laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, that makes two of us."

"Look, Justin," I said, stepping closer to him, not worrying about paint on my Armani suit. "I know…at least, I think I know what's stopping you from going to New York. And it's not Isaly's Chipped Ham." Amusement colored his face briefly, then he looked down.

"Yes, you know what's stopping me," he admitted, very softly. I was at once happy for this declaration, and frustrated that it came now, when he was throwing away a chance to lay several more stones in the foundation of an amazing career.

"So did it occur to you that I can be an advertising exec in New York?" I asked gently.

"Your business is here in Pittsburgh," he said, almost warily.

"I've been jonesing to get out of Pittsburgh for years," I reminded him. "I almost left once, remember? Until the job fell through because they didn't think I was ready for Madison Avenue?" He nodded, remembering. "Now, I've got an established business and an even better name, with millions of dollars in accounts. No question whether I'm ready for Madison Avenue; the question should be whether Madison Avenue is ready for me."

He grinned, the moment of humor illuminating his face again and momentarily lifting the gloom. "So…are you saying you'd consider moving to New York to be with me?"

"I'm saying, if Ted can find me an office space and Cynthia's willing to come for a few weeks to help me get set up, I'll be there tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, at the first possible moment." I stroked his cheek gently with my thumb. "I've told you, many times since that night at Babylon, that I love you; and that I'll do anything – whatever it takes – to be with you. To show you that I know where my future lies. And by where, I don't mean in a specific city or a particular apartment or office. Wherever you are, Justin; wherever you are – that's where my future is."

He studied me for a long moment, as though examining me for traces of untruth. I knew he would find none. Finally, seemingly satisfied with what he read on my face, he stepped close and laid his head on my shoulder, nuzzling my neck with his face. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him close.

"So much for waiting three months and then committing," I said.

"It's always been you, Brian," he murmured into my neck. "I didn't need three months; I told you that then. Did you honestly believe I wasn't already committed?"

I had to kiss him then, had to feel his body against mine as I wrapped my arms around his waist; had to lift him to sit his ass on the large paint-spattered worktable in the middle of the room. He moaned as I slid my tongue past his lips and swept the inside of his mouth. I wanted to honor his three-month request, I really did; I also knew that if he truly had a problem with anything I was doing, he would stop me.

He didn't stop me.

I stripped his t-shirt off over his head, and as soon as he was free from the cotton, his hands slid into my suit jacket, pushing it from my shoulders; he laid it on the table beside us. His long fingers found my shirt buttons, and as they deftly undid them, I ran my hands across his chest, tracing the outlines of his nipples. His was no longer the chest of a barely-man; it had filled out and expanded, his pecs benefitting from regular workouts. He would always be slender, but now his body truly looked as though it belonged to the old soul that inhabited it.

When I, too, was bare-chested, he pulled me back to him, swaying his chest back and forth slightly to slide it across mine. The feeling was exquisite, and it had been far too long since I'd felt this with the man whom Debbie had always called Sunshine. We kissed deeply for a long time – nothing compared to the marathon make-out sessions we'd clocked recently – but still, considering how long it had been for both of us, we spent a lot of time joined at the lips.

His hips gradually inched closer to the edge of the table; each time he slid his ass a bit closer to me, it gave him greater leverage to grind his cock against mine. Soon, I slid my hands under his ass, telling him to hold on; and I lifted him up off the table. I carried him to the double bed that was pushed up against the wall and set him down, laying him out on his back across the bedspread. I undid his jeans, sliding them down over his bare feet; and realizing with delight that he wore no briefs under his jeans. I removed my own pants, briefs and socks; and moved over him.

I was about to lower my mouth to his cock when I was struck by a realization. "Wait," I said hoarsely. "Fuck – I don't have any condoms."

"Brian Kinney is out and about in Pittsburgh without condoms?" he asked as his eyes widened in mock horror.

"I haven't needed them recently," I growled, adding, "I didn't foresee needing them today, either."

"Fortunately," he grinned, tapping a smallish wooden box that sat on the table beside his bed, "I have everything we need." I groaned in relief and wasted no time in returning to what I'd been about to do.

He gasped and his hips bucked when I immediately took as much of his cock into my mouth as I could, taking him to the back of my throat. I closed my lips around the base of his cock and sucked hard, and he cried out at the sudden advance on his most intimate skin. His hands slid into my hair, balling into fists and riding my head as it bobbed up and down his length. He moaned, murmuring my name, softly encouraging my assault on his beautiful shaft; when I suddenly had an idea.

I grasped his hips, and without releasing his cock from my mouth, I rolled us over so that I was on my back and he hovered over me. I pulled back from his cock enough to hoarsely order, "Fuck my mouth." He immediately began to thrust into my mouth; I was salivating heavily at the thought of tasting _his_ cum again for the first time in so long. His cock suddenly became even harder in my mouth than it had been; and just when I thought my jaw couldn't take anymore, he stiffened and stopped thrusting. I quickly reached up to twist and pull one of his nipples. A loud, lusty moan bubbled from his mouth as his cock twitched, filling my mouth with his creamy hot jizz. I swallowed it greedily, like one who was given chocolate again after months of deprivation.

When his release was over and I had swallowed every drop, he moved down to lie on top of me, his chest pressing into mine. "Thank you," he whispered between deep breaths. I merely kissed the top of his head in return.

When he had caught his breath, he lifted himself off me, and started to lick and suck my nipples. I closed my eyes and just let myself feel – his talented, wet tongue tracing circles, his mouth pulling my nipple in and then his teeth gently scraping against it. When I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, he reached for the condoms and lube. He put one of the condoms on me, unrolling it slowly and torturously down my cock; then he slowly put the lube over the condom, stroking me up and down. He painted his entrance with more lube, and then kneeled to straddle me, lifting his ass to where my cock would find penetration.

He looked directly into my eyes, and every sensation flowed between us as his body began to open to accept mine inside him. The puckered entrance and the tight ring that the head of my cock pushed slowly past – his eyes widened when it breached the barrier, his mouth parted, his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. Together we moaned, but still we did not close our eyes; the exquisite sensitivity was heightened by what was painted on our faces during the first moments of our congress.

He continued his slow descent until he was sitting on my groin, completely filled by me; only then did he allow his eyes to close and his head to fall back. We had always fit each other so perfectly; it didn't matter who else I was with, Justin's body was the one that made mine sing. I reached up to again trace the beautiful pink nipples that sat top his pecs. He was still sitting with my cock fully, and instead of lifting himself up and down on me, he began to swivel his hips, grinding against me. His full, round ass cheeks rubbed against my balls, and everything he did was fucking flawless pleasure. I could very happily spend the rest of my life doing nothing but fucking Justin.

This time he was the one to roll us over so that I was above him. I held my chest above his with my arms, and he wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me in as deep as I could go. "Please fuck me," he moaned, almost begging in a hoarse whisper. I obliged immediately, beginning a relentless assault on his ass. Again and again I sunk deep inside him, filling him up, feeling his beautiful body around my hard cock. His hand came up to play with the head of his cock, his fingers softly twisting around the glans; his body would twitch every time he did. He was so fucking gorgeous, so responsive and _I loved him so much_.

I knew he was close to coming; his brow creased in concentration as he tried to hold off his orgasm. I thrust harder, making it impossible for him to prevent it, and I watched his alluring face when he finally let go. His head tossed from side to side, and a keening sound escaped from his open mouth. Seeing him writhe beneath me – realizing, finally, he was mine again – it was my undoing.

I shouted his name, and his hips lifted to meet my thrust as my cum spilled from me in powerful spasms. I had never known pleasure like this; had never met my perfect physical equal, until Justin made his way into my life. Now I wondered how the fuck it took me five years to figure out that he was exactly the right person for me; and at the same time was so goddamn grateful that, even when he got fed up and left me, he had always come back. I would never again give him a reason to leave me.

Moments later, we lay, spent, wrapped up in each other. I had cleaned him off and disposed of the condom; then I covered us up in the quilt that lay on his bed. I held him close, whispering to him that I loved him, reveling in him returning the sentiment every single time I offered it. He promised me that day that he would always be there for me; and I knew that, whether we were in Pittsburgh, New York or fucking Timbuktu, we would always be Brian and Justin – the names that were created to be expressed in a single breath; the bodies that meshed and moved together in perfect union; the hearts that would beat in a single rhythm, until the day they would beat no longer.

-o-

**To Shannon, my darling friend – happy birthday! xoxo**

**Val, the lovely Touchstone67, has exercised her extensive talents to create a manip to accompany this story. You can see a copy of it on my blog, starfish422(dot)blogspot(dot)com. **

**I hope you've enjoyed this departure from my usual fandom; if you are reading my stuff for the first time and you're a fan of slash, please check out my other stories – all are slash, set in the Twilight fandom. **


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